


santa baby (take your time, please)

by pineapplefork



Series: TMA Winter Shenanigans [2]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Christmas Party, Fluff, Multi, Pre-Slash, Secret Santa, The Magnus Archives (Podcast) as a Workplace Comedy, everyone at the Magnus Institute ships jonmartin, everyone will get their gift eventually, in this specific fic martin elias and rosie get gifts lmao, it's all a big mess, jon and martin are idiots who like each other, kind of, secret santa gathering, tim and sasha are cute but not a couple
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:13:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27799777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pineapplefork/pseuds/pineapplefork
Summary: “Ugh, I hate secret Santa.”Tim laughs. “Oh, come on, boss, you only say that because you didn’t get Martin.”(Thing is, he did get Martin.)***In which the S1 crew does secret Santa. Chaos ensues.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Sasha James/Tim Stoker
Series: TMA Winter Shenanigans [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2033800
Comments: 7
Kudos: 132





	santa baby (take your time, please)

**Author's Note:**

> hi! this is a follow-up to [baby it's cold outside](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27798241), the second work in the Winter Shenanigans series!!  
> you can technically read this as a stand-alone, but there are some things mentioned that will not make sense without the context  
> if you want the texts to show up properly, turn on creator's style. it's still readable with it turned off, but less so  
> hope you enjoy :)!!!

“Ugh, I hate secret Santa.”

Tim laughs. “Oh, come on, boss, you only say that because you didn’t get Martin.”

Jon, to his credit, only blushes a little and prays that his assistant doesn’t notice. “You’re not supposed to say who you got, Tim. Now, get back to work. Break’s over.”

Thing is, he did get Martin. When he pulled the little ticket out of Sasha’s beanie, he didn’t want to admit to himself that he was hoping for Martin. Instead, he tried to convince himself that he wanted someone easy, someone he didn’t know well for whom it would be socially acceptable to buy a generic, holiday-themed gift. But he had pulled out the ticket, read Martin’s name in neat cursive, willed his face not to heat up and moved on to let the next person have their pick. 

Now, Jon sits in his office, head in his hands and desperately trying to come up with gift ideas. His traitorous heart didn’t think things through when it hoped — it’s not its job to think, Jon understands, but that doesn’t make it any easier to bear. He checks the date on his phone: he has about two weeks to plan, buy and wrap Martin’s present, which seems like more than enough time, but he has a feeling planning will take the longest.

When Sasha knocks on his door and enters his office, Jon has moved on from wallowing and is now staring at his laptop, pretending to work. He closes its lid too quickly for it to be inconspicuous, but she doesn’t mention it. Instead, she sits down across from him and discusses requesting a new budget for the Archives. It’s all terribly mundane and expected and Jon really ought to thank her for holding the one brain cell the four of them share while he’s having a mini-crisis. He tries to listen to her, he really does. What she’s saying is perfectly reasonable and competent, but—

“Who’d you get for secret Santa?” he can’t help but ask. He sees that Sasha’s taken aback, ready to stand her ground in terms of being taken seriously, but something makes her do a double-take. She looks him up and down, holds his gaze for a second, then sighs and slaps the documents on the desk.

“Why do you care? What’s the deal?”

He’s— he… “I… Do you promise not to tell?” 

Sasha smiles, probably feeling just as much as he is like kindergarteners who tell each other secrets for the first time. “Yes, Jon, I promise. Now spill.” She leans back in her chair.

“Remember last week, the snow fight? When Martin started chasing me?”

Sasha’s smile widens. “Yes, why?”

“Well, he tripped, at one point. Fell over me. It was fine, it really was, but he felt bad about it and he started to apologise and he wouldn’t stop and his hands were shaking so I—” He sighs. “I grabbed and, um, held them.”

“You held them. His hands. Martin’s. You held Martin’s hands.” Sasha punctuates each sentence with small tilts of her head, then a final nod, as if assuring Jon that she too understands the implications of such an action.

“Yes! And then I started to apologise, too, and it was a mess.” Jon’s head somehow ends up in his hands again, although this really wasn’t the point of the story.

“Right,” Sasha says hesitantly, “I don’t see the problem.”

Jon lifts his head. “The problem is, Sasha, that ever since then I— I can’t stop thinking about him. Every time he brings me tea I thank him and he smiles— he has such a beautiful smile— and I can’t believe that I ignored him for so long even though he’s been nothing but kind, even when I didn’t deserve it and… ugh.” And he’s back to his previous position. 

“Right, Jon,” she says again, more forceful. “What’s the issue here? It’s barely been a week, you’ve been an ass to him for years now. It’s not like you even have to worry about a Christmas present, with secre— ” Jon’s eyes meet hers. A one-second pause. Then, “ — oh?” She looks at him, brows furrowed. Another pause, slightly longer this time. Then, “ _ Oh. _ ”

Jon’s head hits the desk with a thud. His voice is muffled when he speaks. “Yeah.  _ Oh. _ ”

***

Sasha doesn’t normally sleep in, but on Friday nights she goes out with Tim and Martin, which means that she comes home sometime between twelve and four in the morning. So she isn’t up and running at six o’clock sharp, sue her. 

Still, she wants to sleep away the hangover and the awful taste in her mouth, but someone keeps texting her and she forgot to put her phone on silent and she wants to scream. It can’t be Tim or Martin, though, because they’re both heavy sleepers and were even drunker than she was last night. Her relatives don’t know how to text, no coworker outside the Archives has her number, which only leaves… 

Sasha rolls in her bed and slaps a hand over her phone, squinting at the brightness of its screen. She looks at the ID and can’t say she’s surprised.

**Jon Sims**  
  
**Text Message**  
**Today** 10:34 am   
  
**Jon Sims:** Sasha.  
  
**Jon Sims:** Sasha, are you busy?  
  
**Jon Sims:** Tell me if you are.  
  
**Jon Sims:** Sasha please, this is an emergency  
  
  
  


She can’t say she’s surprised, but she’s definitely confused.

**Jon Sims**  
  
**Jon Sims:** Tell me if you are.  
  
**Jon Sims:** Sasha please, this is an emergency  
  
**You:** It's 10am on a Saturday, Jon  
  
**You:** No, I'm not busy  
  
**You:** What's going on?  
  
**Jon Sims is typing...**

Jon types for a while, seemingly gives up and follows up by attaching three photos. Sasha realises, as she looks at them, what her boss meant by ‘emergency’.

The first photo is of Jon’s hand holding a plastic, patterned kettle. She zooms in and realises that dogs are doodled all around it: some wagging their tail, some sitting, some with their tongues lolling out. It’s cute. She’s kind of proud of him for picking out this one. When she squints and tries to read the price, though, she cringes. Yeah, if Jon buys this for Martin, he’s not buying anything else.

The second one is of a clothing rack in what she assumes to be one of those fancy couture boutiques. The foremost hanger holds a soft-looking acrylic sweater. It’s yellow, which is Martin’s favourite colour and looks fairly appropriate, price-wise. Sasha examines the tag closer and realises it comes in women’s sizes. She sighs. It’s so hard to find cute guy’s sweaters.

When she sees the last photo, she instantly texts Jon back with a ‘This one’ and a ‘Good luck, boss<3’. What she’s picked is most likely going to make Martin cry happy tears, but she’s not about to tell Jon that. He’s been such a dick to Martin the past few years, he really deserves to worry about the guy’s gift a little bit. She wonders if he’s consciously chosen things that represent Martin’s core in one way or another and figures there’s probably no other explanation. She smiles to herself. It’s so much like Jon to wake up first thing on the weekend to search for the perfect gift for his crush. Still, she can’t wait to see Martin’s face when he opens it and realises who it’s from. He’s going to be elated.

***

“Oh, Martin’s going to  _ hate _ this.” 

Is it bad if Tim wants to punch his boss?

Somehow, despite the name being  _ secret  _ Santa, Jon’s managed to get the entirety of the nearby staff on his side. He, Sasha, Rosie, two women from IT, a guy from Artefact Storage and even  _ Elias _ have all been (willing or not-so) victims of the Head Archivist’s incessant requests for advice in  _ ‘What to possibly give Mahtin for Christmas’.  _ It’s become something of a game. They’ve even placed bets on whether he’ll actually get his shit together and buy their colleague something nice or if he’ll just fake being sick and never show up during the gift exchange. Tim supposes that they’ve all given up on true love and now live vicariously through Jon and Martin, which, you know, is not as bad as it could get.

Right now, it’s just him and Sasha trying to calm him down, though. 

Well, more like just Sasha, actually. Tim’s mostly enjoying the chaos.

“Jon, you’ve already bought and wrapped the damned thing. I told you it’s a good gift and so did Tim, Rosie and everyone else. Why are you still panicking?” Sasha’s attempts at reasoning with him haven’t worked for a while now.

“Hell, even Elias told you you’d done well in that creepy, ominous way of his that makes you think he knows more than he should,” Tim tries, despite knowing Jon is too anxious to listen.

Martin took a day off for personal reasons, presumably to visit his mother. He didn’t mention why, but Tim vaguely remembers being told about the care home’s inconvenient visiting hours. Regardless, his absence gives Jon ample opportunity to panic, especially since the exchange is only a few days away, now.

Tim knows what Jon got for Martin. He knows Martin will love it and probably love Jon even more for it. He isn’t as invested in the whole thing as Sasha is, honestly, but he’ll still stick around just to support her while she tries to talk some sense into their boss.

As he idly watches Sasha, since there’s nothing else for him to do, he remembers their kiss from two weeks ago. Tim can’t say he truly expected it to go anywhere, but then again, is that not even worth a conversation? He made the first step, it’s now up to Sasha to decide if she wants to talk about it or not.

He can’t deny he feels a little disappointed, though.

She’s great.

He just… wishes he could show her he’s serious about her without making an ass of himself.

Tim hums thoughtfully, but nobody pays him any mind.

When Martin accidentally mentioned that he got Sasha for secret Santa, he immediately saw how Tim’s eyes lit up and offered to switch. He even insisted, saying that Rosie was easier for him since he knew she’d been wanting a thermos but never got around to buying one. Tim had thought about it, simultaneously cursed and envied Martin’s observational skills (that somehow always dissipate when Jon tries to flirt back) but ultimately decided he wasn’t in fifth grade and wouldn’t switch his ticket just because someone else got his crush.

Right about now, though, he is thinking about taking Martin up for his offer.

Tim hums again and it still goes ignored, to nobody’s surprise.

***

Martin hates this.

Look, it’s not his fault he’s a romantic, all right? When Tim called him the night before the gift exchange, practically begging to switch names, what was he supposed to say? ‘No, Tim, it’s 11 pm, I can’t return what I already bought for Sasha’? Or ‘No, Tim, I offered to switch weeks ago, I won’t just wake up at six o’clock tomorrow to buy Rosie something just because you changed your mind last minute’? In his defence, he really wanted to tell him that!

It’s just that Tim is  _ extremely  _ good at convincing people. He assured Martin that he could give him the money for Sasha’s or Rosie’s presents, that they could just switch because Tim bought Rosie the exact thermos Martin had recommended, that it wasn’t  _ really  _ a problem if he didn’t agree, since he had already prepared a gift for Sasha but got cold feet at the last minute because he didn’t want to come across as too direct. Tim also told him the whole kiss story, about how Sasha said nothing and he didn’t want to be a pushy asshole but still wanted to give her  _ something _ for Christmas and secret Santa was the perfect opportunity. 

Martin had sighed into his phone and begrudgingly accepted to switch presents. For all his complaining, he still decided to wake up at six, because beside the pair of headphones he’d gotten Sasha he’d also wanted to get something more personal. So he had to get up an hour early, leave the house by seven twenty so he’d be at the mall by eight, return the S-shaped keychain and look for something appropriate for Rosie.

It didn’t take long to find a favourite blend of artisan tea they’d once bonded over, to go with her thermos. Although still slightly annoyed with Tim, Martin always found that planning and buying presents made him feel especially giddy. Despite this, he finds himself not even expecting a thoughtful gift from his secret Santa. A man can only receive so many free perfume samples, Christmas-themed mugs and the one bag of raw peanuts until he loses hope for this game entirely.

When he finally reaches the Institute, gift bag in hand and just on time, he meets with Tim and does a sneaky switch-a-roo in the break room.

“Thanks, Marto. I owe you one,” he says, grinning. Martin notices the slight blush lining his cheeks and smiles back.

“No worries, Tim. What’d you get Sasha? You didn’t mention.” 

Tim winks. “It’s a secret. Definitely not something better than what you’re getting, though.”

His words catch Martin in the middle of a fond eye roll. His gaze quickly snaps to Tim’s. “Wait, what does that mean? Do you know who my secret Santa is?”

Tim is already sauntering to the break room door with an “I don’t know what you’re talking about” by the time he finishes his sentence. He throws finger guns at Martin and makes a flourishing exit. Tim wouldn’t have said that just to mock Martin, would he? Does that mean he’s actually going to receive a good gift, for once? The giddiness from before promptly returns — Martin’s smiling and struggling to make tea while he excitedly bounces on the balls of his feet. 

***

Jon hasn’t felt this much anticipatory anxiety in  _ years.  _

He swears that even when Elias interviewed him he felt more confident than he does now, making idle chatter with the staff while, one by one, each of them goes to grab their present.

Tim has dressed as Santa’s elf this year— and by that, Jon means that he’s put on a green hat with pointy ears stuck to its sides and is wearing candy-cane stockings under booty-shorts that say  _ “Hurry down my chimney tonight” _ in cursive. He doesn’t stand out too much, though, since the whole thing is on a Friday, the last day before the holidays and everyone is wearing themed clothing of some kind. (Jon deliberately does not dwell on how good Martin looks in ugly Christmas sweaters.) So far, Elias has not come out of his office. Somehow, Jon gets the feeling that it’s out of self-preservation.

Still, Tim takes the presents in no particular order— he just picks the nearest one up and calls the person whose name is written somewhere on it. Jon was here earliest, as usual, which means that his present was first in the pile. He’d hoped that people would wait until later to open their gifts, but it seems that everybody is eager and Martin will probably open his as soon as he receives it, too. Jon’s hands are shaking and he desperately misses the pockets of his overcoat. In lieu of somewhere to stick them, he just crosses his arms and leans against the nearest wall.

Sasha and Martin join him at one point. They make small talk. He also tries to, but can barely meet their eyes.

Suddenly, a hush falls over the whole room. Jon has been so caught up in his own thoughts, that he doesn’t realise Elias enters the break room just as Tim calls his name. Huh. It seems their boss doesn’t only creep out the archival crew, but the rest of the office, too. Everyone’s eyes follow his movements as he picks up the small box from Tim’s hands (Santa’s helper, he insists to be called), opens it, and… it feels like all of them are collectively trying to take a peek at what’s inside the box. Elias sketches the smallest of smiles, closes the box, generally thanks whoever his secret Santa might be and leaves.

As soon as he’s out the door, the break room starts buzzing with chatter again. Jon notices Martin waving Tim over. Sasha is smirking.

“What do you know, Sash?” Tim asks once the four of them are huddled together.

She somehow looks even smugger. “Guess who his secret Santa is.”

Martin gasps. “No, you didn’t.”

“Yes, I did!” Sasha sing-songs in response, cheeky grin rivalling even Tim’s usual one.

“What’d you give him?” Tim beats Jon to the question and it’s probably for the best. Everyone seems more preoccupied with Elias’ appearance than with the gift exchange right now, but Jon still doesn’t feel relaxed enough to trust his voice.

Sasha pulls out her phone and shows them a photo.

Even through his foggy mind, Jon manages to tell that Sasha’s gift was extraordinary.

“I can’t believe it. You’ve got a bigger brain than all of us combined,” Tim says, now having taken Sasha’s phone and still looking at the photo.

Martin pats Sasha on the shoulder. “You really did it this year, Sash.”

“Thanks, guys.” Her smile is warm.

“How’d you come up with it?” Jon finds himself asking and is surprised by the casualness with which the words come out. He probably seems stabler than he feels.

“Remember the snowball fight?” Sasha asks and continues when all three of them nod, “At one point, I threw one at Elias’ office window and he used the same handkerchief that always hangs from his pocket to wipe the snow away. I don’t know if you know it, guys, it’s the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Uglier than the ones you gave him? Impossible,” Tim says, incredulous but grinning.

Sasha shudders. “The ones I gave him are top-notch fashion, in comparison.”

At that, both Martin and Jon go “Oh, no,” at the same time. They look at each other, then quickly away, smiling. Jon sees the way Tim looks at each of them in turn, tuts and promptly goes to the gift pile again, but he pretends not to notice. He does notice the fact that Tim searches for a specific box before he reads the name attached to it. Jon stiffens.

“And the next one, everybody, is for ” — the crowd has slowly started to pay attention again — “Martin Blackwood, Archival Assistant!”

Martin goes to receive his present and also receives a wink from Tim. He looks visibly confused, but before he turns to make his way back, Jon feels Sasha’s hand squeeze his shoulder. She gives him a look that says ‘You’ve got this’ and Jon struggles to believe her. He takes a deep breath and exhales just as Martin joins them again.

“So, what did Santa’s helper have for you?” Sasha asks teasingly. She seems more excited than Martin, to be honest, which does nothing for Jon’s confidence. As Martin carefully (of course he wouldn’t be one of the troglodytes who rip the gift paper) unwraps the gift, the whole room feels filled with static, expecting. (It’s probably because the entire office has been waiting for this moment for weeks, but Jon focuses on Martin’s hands, instead.)

He pulls the paper away, opens the box, looks inside…

Everyone is frozen in place, the loud chatter has quieted down to a murmur.

Sasha takes Jon’s hand and squeezes.

Jon has stopped breathing.

And Martin…

Martin is… crying?

Oh,  _ no.  _

***

“See, Jon, I told you you’d leave the boy in tears!” Sasha is laughing at Jon rather than with him, but that’s okay because Jon is smiling, too.

Tim, bless the guy, has convinced Martin to wait for him to finish with the presents, so the three of them can properly open their gifts together. Martin seemed reluctant at first, as if he was trying to convince  _ Tim _ it was a bad idea. It took an exchange of looks Sasha couldn’t even begin to understand for Martin to agree.

Now, about an hour later, they’re sitting in the assistants’ office, laughing together because Martin started tearing up again when they got to his gift.

“I— I can’t believe this,” he says, smiling through hiccups, “I think it’s the first good gift I ever got from one of these.” Martin uses the hand that’s not holding the box to wipe at his eyes, so Sasha’s pretty sure that he doesn’t notice Jon basically melting into himself with relief.

“Just good?” Tim teases. 

Martin laughs wetly. “No, it’s perfect. I just wish I knew who even  _ thought _ of this, you know?”

Sasha mentally applauds Jon for managing to remain casual. “So you have no idea who it could be?” he asks, softer than she’s ever heard him speak. 

Martin shakes his head. “I don’t think I’ve told anyone how passionate I am about it, it’s not like I talk about this often. God…” Sasha thinks he’s about to cry again, so she throws Tim a meaningful look and tilts her head in Martin’s direction.

He looks at her, at Jon, then bumps shoulders with Martin. “Actually, Marto, you’ve told us about this.”

Martin’s head snaps up, looks at the three of them. “What? No, I didn’t. What? When?”

Tim’s grin is getting wider the more panicked Martin becomes. (Which is to say, it’s really wide.) “Remember last year, when we finally got Jon to go out with us and we all got pissed?”

Jon looks capital M Mortified, but Martin looks at him and smiles. “Yeah, when none of us remembered what happened and Jon never wanted to go out with us again. What about it?”

This time, Sasha butts in. “One of us remembers what happened.”

Martin looks genuinely confused now. Both Sasha and Tim are looking at Jon, though, which makes Martin also turn his head towards him. Jon’s eyes widen at the sudden scrutiny. They dart from the floor, to her, to Tim, until they finally land somewhere on Martin’s sweater. 

He sighs. “I don’t remember much, just that after the sixth or seventh drink you started talking about poetry, then about calligraphy, then about how for a long while it felt like the only thing you were good at until your mother threw your kit out and…” Jon finally meets Martin’s eyes, then. “The one thing you said that I remember clearly is that you wanted to buy another one for yourself, but never had the courage.” 

(Sasha doesn’t know about Tim, but it feels awfully like they’re intruding.)

(Still, it’s not about them, not really.)

“Oh,” Martin says, voice wavering. He casts his eyes to the box, holds it with both hands. He takes everything out, one by one: the silver, quill-like fountain pen that has the initials MKB engraved on it, the different coloured ink bottles and the leather-bound notebook. “Oh, Jon, this must have cost a fortune.”

Jon nods toward the notebook. “Open it.”

Martin does, with shaking hands, and reads what Sasha assumes Jon wrote on the front page. “Jon…” When he looks back up at him, his eyes are brimming with tears.

“What does it say?” Tim asks.

Martin wordlessly asks Jon if he can and receives permission. He clears his throat.

“ _ Somewhere deep inside you fester memories and dreams _

_ You try to pin them down but you can't hear beyond the screams _

_ All I recall with clarity is your single drunken want _

_ Write down these thoughts so vague and dark beyond _

_ Deep inside your mind _

_ Write what’s there to find.”  _

The way he recites is somewhere between spoken word poetry and actual singing, Sasha notes. There’s obviously something more at play here, because when Jon says,

“I also know you like The Mechanisms,”

Martin is visibly debating something very important with himself and the part that wants to hug Jon wins. Jon is stiff in Martin’s arms, at first— the whole interaction looks as awkward as sitting-down side-hugs can be— but then he relaxes and hugs Martin back.

(Sasha still feels terribly out of place.)

(It’s worth it, though, to see Martin this happy.)

(She and Tim look at each other and she knows he agrees.)

“Right!” he says, though, “I don’t think any of our presents can beat Martin’s here,” — Jon and Martin both blush — “so I suggest we take everything, sit our asses down in a pub, get a few drinks in us and then open the rest. What do y’all say?”

Sasha cringes. “As long as you never say ‘y’all’ again, I’m game.” She looks around, grabs her stuff. “Jon, you’re coming too, right?”

He hesitates. “I don’t think that’s really the best—”

“Come on, Jon. Pretty please?” 

Sasha knows,  _ knows _ Jon can’t resist Martin’s puppy eyes for one single second.

There’s something of a staring contest between the two of them. Martin wins. “Fine, let me get my coat,” Jon says, but she can hear the fondness slip through his exasperated sigh.

She and Tim totally pretend to not see Jon and Martin accidentally-on-purpose bump hands on the way out, though.

  


**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!!!  
> (there are some really ugly handkerchiefs out there, guys)  
> (also, the little message in martin’s notebook is from the song Loki by the Mechanisms, just a bit altered to fit the occasion)  
> today was a writing day, but I'll do my best to write the other three fics I have planned in this series (the outing that immediately follows, Christmas day and new year's ;)))) )  
> kudos are appreciated, but comments make me want to write more!  
> come yell with me about how tma is in actuality a workplace comedy<3


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